How to Kiss an Elven-king
by JolieFolie
Summary: Thranduil rescues a shy girl travelling in a snowstorm and provides her with shelter. Please note: rated M for dub-con kissing and mature themes. Written in 1st person. (Cross-listed on AO3 in 2nd person; I have the same username there). Thranduil/OFC.
1. Chapter 1

The sun is too bright, the wind is too fierce, and it's s-s-so cold…

I drop to my knees, the thin material of my pants providing no protection from the hard, heavy snow layered against the earth. It doesn't matter – the frost has already bitten me, and –

The elements have painted my eyelashes with icicles. I squint through them, blind.

It would be so nice to _sleep…_

I feel something solid grip my waist. I must be dreaming. I close my eyes, feeling lifted as though into my mother's arms. _Take me home._

"Mine." A warm voice croons, as if from a distance. My cheek falls against something solid, but not nearly as hard as the earth.

The last thing I feel is my hair tickling my nose. No, it couldn't be… All my hair is secured under my cap.

The needles thrown from the North slow my thought process. _Then whose hair…?_

And then –

Nothing hurts anymore.

* * *

Everything hurts. My vocal cords, dry, croak out a helpless cry. I twitch and my bare skin slides against velvet.

Burning hands respond and an impossibly smooth, deep voice soothes me with words I don't understand.

I try to speak but my chapped lips warn against forming a single syllable.

Something warm slips over my lips and – oh, god – whatever it is, it coats my lips perfectly. My vision is hazy; I see a hand below my nose, providing balm to my lips. I detect the scent of masculinity, but not man.

"Water. Please." My voice is tiny.

I don't realize someone is lying behind me until I feel his heavenly warmth peel away from me. I shiver, clutching at the nearest thing, which happens to be the thick blanket securing me against the bed. The blanket is so soft I can't feel it. I wonder if I'm dreaming again.

"Sit up."

I don't recognize the voice, but I'm too weak to resist it. As soon as I obey, the rim of a chalice kisses my bottom lip and my hands are flying out grasping and I'm drinking it, all of it, _yes –_

I gasp, finally releasing my grip when the cup is empty. I hear my companion – rescuer? – chuckle softly. His hand never left the chalice; he pulls it back and I glance over at –

He's sitting next to me, the blanket covering him from his abdomen down. His white hair cascades over his shoulders and the skin of his chest and arms is free from imperfection. I avert my gaze from the… well, the apex of his legs, which I shouldn't be looking at. My manners are beginning to thaw and I remember to look him in the eye.

I am granted a split second to gaze upon his face while his eyes are cast downward. His dark lashes – long and thick – shield me from his eyes and, when he meets my gaze, I'm swept up into the snowstorm all over again.

Another helpless noise escapes my throat and I do what any creature might do in his presence – I shrink back under the blanket. My learnt manners are urging me to sit back up and face him, but my instincts tell me to hide.

He murmurs something in a foreign tongue. "You're warm now," he says with the same tone and cadence. I assume he's translating. Although that is giving him the benefit of the doubt. What makes me assume he is a benevolent creature? His appearance hardens my lungs, shortens my breath – but beauty doesn't always translate to goodness.

I curl my toes. "Yes," I admit, not sure if he was asking a question or just making a statement. I don't want to risk being rude by accidentally ignoring him. There is something in the way he uses his voice, how he holds his chin, which commands respect. And something else that suggests I don't want to know the consequences of failing to pay that respect.

I stretch my arms and legs out as best I can without knocking into him. The bed is expansive, the room is expansive, and his body must be too, because my foot brushes against his leg – his feet are further down than mine, making me curious about his height. He surpasses me in size, strength, and hairstyle.

How long was I asleep? Does he expect me to fall back asleep? God, I can't sleep now – my heart is racing. I hope he can't hear it. "Where am I?"

He slips further down under the blanket so he's lying next to me, his smooth skin slipping against mine. It tickles, but I dare not laugh – I shiver instead. "You are where I need you to be." He slips his left arm underneath the pillow behind my head. He gently pushes me onto my side so he can cup my body with his longer one, then uses his right arm to pull me snug against him. "There are many tiny, beautiful winter treasures to be found, but not all of them can I hold in my hands without them melting."

His voice reminds me of the hot cider I used to love when I was a child. _What was that about melting in his arms? Or, wait, what…?_

There is something unsettling yet comforting about my surroundings that makes me ambivalent about finding sleep again. Although, if this creature is indeed my rescuer, is there really anything to be nervous about? I am grateful for a shelter from the cold – for a shelter at all. My home isn't much of a refuge these days.

I try to think back to the snowstorm, searching my memory desperately…

I turn around to face him, my weakened muscles protesting against the effort. "Why did you rescue me?" He feels so warm, his scent is so comforting – I want so badly to trust him.

He lifts his arm briefly to accommodate my shift in position and then wraps me up again. I catch a glimpse of his impossibly straight hair, his ear poking through the strands. _He is definitely not Man. _I rest my head under his, so my nose is against his chest. _But he smells so much better than one. _

"I have never seen a traveller so unprepared, so vulnerable, so…" _Beautiful_, he says under his breath, or maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. His voice is deep, and I'm not sure whether it's to reassure me or lull me into a false sense of security.

Either way, the cadence with which he speaks has a strange effect on me: I'm squeezing my legs together (which I hope he doesn't realize – how embarrassing) but my eyelids are getting heavier. I'm suddenly aware of my breathing; I try my best to breathe normally, to mask the effect that he has on my body.

He continues, "I am the Elven-king of the Woodland Realm, and a trespasser will always surrender to me before anyone – and anything – else." He cups the side of my face. "What is your name?"

His intense gaze and his beautiful face make me nervous, but I don't want to let him know that. He is definitely older than me, and I want to appear confident, like I can take care of myself. I say my full name, as evenly as possible.

He nods imperceptibly, as if memorizing my name and my features.

I bite my lip before speaking. In any other situation, it'd be a simple thing to ask someone's name – but here, it's so quiet, and he's so composed, I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing or tripping over my words. "And you are…?" I ask hesitantly.

When he reveals his name, I know immediately that I'll never be able to forget it.

"Thranduil," I echo him, saying it slowly, trying it out. I nestle back on my side, so my back is against his torso, the way we were before. It's weird, but a part of me feels privileged to know his name – like he's given me a private key.

When he fits his arm around my abdomen, he touches me as though he is revisiting old fingerprints he left on me centuries ago. How could a stranger know my body so well? He buries his face against the back of my neck, his nose at the base of my hairline, and inhales me, slowly.

I don't realize I've been holding my breath until he stops moving. Since his arm is over my abdomen, rising and falling with my breaths, I do all I can to monitor my breathing – neither rapid and shallow, which would give away my nervousness, nor too deep, which might give away the fact that I'm trying to take in as much of the scent of his bed as possible. I almost can't believe this is happening – like I'm still half asleep. Part of me assumes this is a dream, that I'll wake up and be back at home… and have to run away all over again.

He murmurs something in his own language. His voice is like honey that drips down my skin, curls around my curves, and fastens me to him. I will myself to stay awake, to listen even though the only thing I understand is the music of his words, but…

* * *

There are no windows. The candles overhead are like artificial stars. I wonder what the moon looks like tonight. Everyone who is alive right now, who looks up into the sky, gazes upon the same moon.

I remember the other humans, back home – what would technically be my family. A part of me wonders if anyone back home is looking for me. I kind of want someone to, just so that I knew they cared. And another part of me hopes no one comes after me, so I can truly get away from them.

_I don't want to be on my own. I just want to be free. And safe._

My thoughts rouse my body. It takes me a moment to remember where I am, but when I do, I stay perfectly still. _I'm supposed to be here_, I tell myself, even though I don't fully believe it's true. I hug my abdomen, but the arms that kept me snug as I fell asleep have retreated.

The Elven-king of the Woodland Realm. He sounds way too important to actually care about me. Saving me, and then letting me sleep here – his kindness was most likely prompted by pity. I stay still, listening carefully, trying to discern whether he's sleeping or awake by his breathing pattern. I don't want to accidentally wake him up – he rescued me, the least he deserves is a proper night's sleep. I start practicing my goodbyes. I can't stay here forever.

I could turn around to look at him. Would it be rude to leave while he's asleep?

I shift a fraction of an inch, testing the bed. It doesn't creak, but I'm still cautious – all it takes is one noise to potentially wake him. Slowly, I roll over onto my other side, then prop myself up on my arm.

He's lying on his back, his hair fanned out roughly on the pillow and on his shoulders without even a touch of bedhead. His hair is so fabulous, it yields to nothing, not even sleep. The steady pulse in his neck, the slow rise and fall of his abdomen – there is a world at work within him, all of it hidden from sight.

His lips part – only a hair's width – but it's enough to startle me. All I need right now is for him to wake up and wonder why I'm hovering over him.

Well, I'm not hovering over him. I'm just watching…

I can't take my eyes off his mouth. A voice inside me says, _kiss him._

No, that wouldn't be right. I doubt he'd let me kiss him if he was awake. My entire body heats up as I try to push the thought out of my mind. _I should either leave or go back to sleep._

Then again, Thranduil was watching me sleep only a short time ago. And he must have been thinking _something _as he watched me – maybe not the same thoughts I'm having now, but…

I wonder how old Thranduil is. I've heard that Elves live much longer than Men, and I wouldn't be surprised if he is thousands of years old. Even though he doesn't look it.

Back home, many girls my age were betrothed to older men. I never understood it, but then, I was never very good at attracting the attention of the opposite gender. So often, I felt like an outsider, an alien in my own village, able to find my kin only among the characters of my favourite stories.

_So I woke up in bed with an Elven-king… _Definitely not like the fairy tales of my childhood.

Every time I wondered about older men, it was always in an abstract way. Never like this.

Very innocently, I reach my hand forward and place it on his arm, keeping my eyes on his in case he opens them. Even though I'm not doing anything wrong – at least, that's what I tell myself – I'm still nervous.

I thought that if I just let myself touch his arm, my urges would go away and I wouldn't have to battle with myself any longer. Now, my desire to get closer to him is even stronger. I mentally kick myself for allowing myself to touch him.

He inhales sharply.

I freeze. A strand of his hair tickles my finger.

If he woke up right now, I'd have to admit _why _I have my hand on him, which means confessing to my crush.

_He's a great and powerful Elven-king, and I'm just… me._

I know I'm being too hard on myself, but there's no point in convincing myself otherwise. He is so gorgeous, he probably has a bevy of beautiful maidens waiting to share his bed.

I bring a hand to my lips, touching the spot where he applied the balm. If I kissed him, would the balm transfer over and leave a tell-tale sheen?

I lower myself closer to him. His hair is so vast, I can't help myself – I lift my hand off his arm and smooth a strand against the pillow. His hair goes on forever, cooler than the temperature of my fingers, and there isn't a single kink or knot in it.

Moving so slowly, it doesn't even feel like I'm moving, I close the distance between our faces. I'm an inch from his face now; he's out of focus. I'm staring at his closed eyes, ready to lie back down if he suddenly opens them. If he woke up right now, I swear I'd pee myself. I hold my breath so the puffs of air won't hit his cheek.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I place a single, whisper-light kiss against his cheekbone.

I retract my head, sucking in a breath. I feel a little thrill vibrate down my spine.

I turn my head to face the pillow. I can't help it; I smile, squeezing my eyes shut.

I hear the tiniest of noises – his head twitches against his pillow.

My eyes widen and I do my best not to jump out of bed. Quickly, I lay the side of my head against the pillow and shut my eyes.

After a few moments of silence, I open my eyes. He still appears to be sleeping. I know I should go back to sleep now, but I can't stop replaying that fleeting moment, that stolen kiss, over and over in my head.

I feel so silly; I feel like my heart's turned into mush. I curl my toes, needing some part of me to tense up so I won't burst.

I can't believe how I only kissed Thranduil's cheek, yet it felt more intense than all of the kisses I've shared with other guys combined.

I wonder how intense it might be to kiss him on the lips.

I open one eye, stealing another glance at him. I press my face into the pillow, hard, pretending it's him. The pillow doesn't have feelings; the pillow can't say yes or no.

But I need to show respect to Thranduil. And how respectful is it to kiss someone while they can't give their consent?

Maybe it depends on the kiss. Caregivers will kiss their babies' heads. Surely an innocent kiss can't be that horrible.

The pillow is soft, but it doesn't sate my desire. I need to know what it feels like to kiss him, to truly kiss him. Maybe when he wakes up, I can ask his permission?

And then he'd reject me. My face burns, anticipating the humiliation.

I wonder what it would be like to go to bed not just this night but every night, with a strong, lovely creature beside me to protect me. To have a man say, "I love you," and really mean it.

My lips part silently as I mouth an impossible wish, not because I mean it, but because I want so desperately to know what it feels like to say it to a man.

The pillow won't do. My dreams won't do. My thoughts won't leave me alone. I need to kiss him.

I'll do it quickly, just as I kissed his cheek, and then I'll be done. I inch towards him again. It feels so intimate to be this close to a man, especially one who is older. I wonder about what kind of experiences he's had…

Back home, I kissed guys who had roughly the same amount of experience as me. But to kiss Thranduil – that would be an adventure with someone much more experienced, much more capable. I long to learn how he might surprise me.

The promise, the hint, of a vast collection of carnal knowledge that grossly exceeds mine is enough to send a rush of anticipation throughout my body. I fantasize not about kissing him anymore, but about what he would do with me, if he wanted me the way I wanted him.

I lower myself over his face. I know just how sensitive human lips are, and I assume Elven lips are the same – I can't apply any pressure, or he'll feel it and certainly wake up. My neck is stiffening, but I dare not adjust myself and risk bumping into his nose. I close my eyes and count to three.

_One… two…_

I accidentally lower myself a hair's width too low, but it's low enough to touch his lips.

His eyes open.

Caught, I pull my head back too fast.

I feel like crying, I'm so embarrassed – although there's no denying the pulsing between my legs. I bury my face in the pillow like an ostrich.

He murmurs my name and it sounds so nice, I have to press my whole body into the bed to keep myself from shaking. "How long have you been awake, little one?"

I can't tell if he's serious or whether he's teasing me. I know he saw me, but I'm not willing to admit defeat just yet. Doing my best to be a good actress, I let out a fake snore.

A laugh bursts out of him. "Ah, fast asleep, I see."

I curse myself for my carelessness. I turn my head to peek up at him. There's no use in pretending anymore. I worry about whether he'll be angry at me for stealing a kiss while he slept – or worse, laugh at how ridiculous I am for trying to come that close to someone so dizzyingly high above my station.

He cups my shoulder. My eyes widen. His touch is firm and I can't tell what he's thinking. His eyelids lower. "You are so young. You don't know how to kiss properly."

My heart sinks below the mattress. I knew I was a fool. "I'm sorr-"

He pushes me against the pillow, pressing his mouth against mine.

It's too much to process at once: the ghost of his husky voice still haunting me as both his hands grasp my shoulders, keeping me in place. I couldn't move if I tried. My hands, stunned, are still by my sides. Just as I begin to lift them –

He retreats just as quickly as he advanced on me. My lips part, speechless. One hand remains on my shoulder, giving me a glimmer of hope despite my attempts to talk myself out of wanting another kiss. I can't help it – it's like he has his own gravitational pull. I get closer to him, but he keeps his arm stiff, holding me away from him.

Embarrassed, I feel wave of disappointment wash over me.

And then he kisses me again. Our lips fit together perfectly. This time, his tongue enters me, touching my tongue so gently it's enough to make me whimper.

It's slow, it's languorous. He kisses as though he has already mastered time, as if he is going to live forever. Before, I was only ever kissed by guys who might live to be several decades, if they were lucky. They kissed quickly, like stones skipping across the surface of a pond. But Thranduil's kiss is deeper than an ocean, and darker than the heart of the earth.

I close my eyes this time. This time it's real. This time, he must be kissing me because he wants to. How unbelievable is that? Still nervous, I keep my body still, even though I want to envelop him with my legs and arms. I lift my hands, placing them on either side of his neck. Keeping him close, I move my thumbs ever so slightly, stroking the line of his jaw.

He slowly pulls his tongue out, licking my top lip for a millisecond – just enough time for me to doubt whether he actually did it, or whether my desire has driven me to hallucinate. He moans oh-so-quietly as he pulls away. His arms brush against mine, and every hair on my arms stands up. My skin feels so sensitive. He cups my face. The pads of his thumbs dance along my cheekbones in perfect synchrony. "How does that feel?"

I'm grateful for the blanket covering our bodies, so he can't see what a mess he's made out of me. I keep my eyes shut, too nervous to open them. He's too perfect for me to look at. "Good," I stammer.

He draws circles around my eyes with the tips of his fingers, enticing me to look at him. "Merely 'good'?"

He sounds like he's smiling. Curious, I open my eyes. His mouth is soft but straight – only his eyes suggest a hint of teasing. I'm afraid to tell him the truth, afraid that if I tell him just how good it felt, he'll laugh at me. He must know that I don't have nearly as much experience as him. Is he toying with me? I hope not – at this point, I don't think I'd survive that much blunt trauma to the heart. I try to pull his head back down, but he keeps himself rooted. He finally smiles with his mouth; I'm not getting any closer to him without giving him an answer.

I sigh, giving in to him. "No. It feels _amazing_."

And then his entire body is pressing down on me. I feel like a leaf being swept up into the sky by his great power. I would have never guessed that I could feel so fragile, yet so safe, at the same time. It would be so easy to drown in him, but my lungs protest. I lift my chin, breaking the kiss, gasping.

He allows me a single precious sip of air before he consumes me again, his tongue reaching further within me this time. He hums, joining the vibration of my vocal cords with his own. He moves between my legs, slowly, giving me time to anticipate the sensation of having him even closer to that which pulses within me.

I want so badly to wrap my legs around his waist. I worry about seeming too forward. I was taught not to speak unless spoken to, to not be the one to initiate things. If I pulled him in closer with my legs, would he push me away?

Before I can decide, he moves a hand to my neck. He slows his kisses and strokes my collarbone, finally releasing my mouth. I gasp but feel no relief – I need his lips on me again.

I squeeze my eyes shut, scolding myself. His passion has spoiled me. I'm going to need him for the rest of my life now, and I won't be able to have him ever again. Why else would he break away? I turn my head away, wanting to increase the distance between our bodies, inadvertently exposing my neck to him.

He kisses the space between my collarbones, then my pulse point, slowly making his way to the spot behind my ear. "My little one," he breathes into my ear. "You yielded so swiftly to the wind and snow… I envied the storm, and I could only imagine you yielding even more rapidly, more wholly, to me."

He doesn't give me a chance to linger on his words. I catch a glimpse of the look in his eyes. He doesn't care what I want anymore; his passion has consumed the both of us. He grabs my legs and wraps them around his waist. This time, I am the one to lift my head and seal our lips together.

I know I'm not dreaming, because it's so much better than that. It's perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

It isn't perfect.

When I was a child, I promised myself I would wait for marriage. And now, with Thranduil between my legs, oh-so-warm and smooth – is this really the time to revoke my promise? I know he means to seduce me; I can tell by his silky, hard length pressed against me.

But what about after he has his way with me? What then? I doubt that a mere human girl could fulfill the sexual needs – never mind the emotional or intellectual needs – of a great Elven-king. I don't want to give myself to someone only once – especially someone I know I'll never be able to get enough of.

I break off the kiss, tucking my chin into my chest, cutting off his access to both my lips and my neck. The reality of the situation comes flooding back. What kind of person would slip into bed with someone they hardly know?

"Thranduil. I'm sorry." I feel ashamed for leading him on. He's going to be furious with me. He'll surely kick me back out into the cold now. But I have to stay true to myself, no matter how much I like him – need him. "I can't sleep with you." I squeeze my eyes shut so I don't have to see the look on his face. And even though I'm trying so hard to stay rational, I bury my face in the crook of his neck and shoulder.

He wraps his arms around my back, drawing me closer to him. He sits up and pulls me into his lap. I keep my arms around his neck, trying so desperately to find his scent as comforting as I initially found it. His lips brush against my ear. "Tell me what's wrong."

_What does this all mean? _I feel like asking. I take a deep breath in. I know exactly why I feel guilty. The challenge is figuring out how to explain it to Thranduil.

I ran away from my family, not because they didn't love me – but because they loved me too much. My mother was too overprotective, keeping a close eye on me and forbidding me from forming any romantic relationships. As I matured into a young woman, the pressure became too much. My heart needed freedom.

And now I feel ashamed for wanting a new life with a man I barely know. My mother gave me shelter, protection, love – _everything_ – and I deserted her.

"I miss my family," I finally say. "I think I need to go back."

He cups my face so he can make eye contact, so I can see he is sincere. "If that is what you wish, I will make it so."

I gulp. He doesn't appear to be angry. Is he hiding his true emotions? My shoulders relax. "Thank you."

He pulls away, his warm hands the last thing to leave my skin. "I will send my guard for a weather report."

I shiver, drawing the blanket around my body as I watch him dress, making himself presentable before he leaves me for the first time.

About twenty minutes later, he returns to his bedroom. "The weather is clear and suitable for travelling." He hands me a bundle of fabric. "I took the liberty of having your garments washed and mended."

I bow my head. He's so kind. I can't believe I'm leaving him. "Thank you."

"I cannot, in all good conscience, allow you to travel alone. I will escort you back to your home, to ensure you arrive safely at your destination."

My head snaps up to look at him, but he avoids eye contact. He is slowly striding away from me, his chin held high but his eyes cast downward, as if conveying a calculated aloofness. I know I was foolish for travelling alone the first time, but if he or any of his guards escorted me back, would that not take time away from his other obligations?

But if I tried to travel alone… that would mean we'd have to say goodbye right now. My gaze slips down the cool length of his hair. It hurts too much to look at his profile. "Will I ever see you again?"

"Only if you choose to."

I hug my bundle of clothes to my chest. "Do you want to see me again?" My voice trembles, despite my best efforts.

He makes eye contact, freezing me. "Why would you ask such a thing?" His voice is pressured.

I look down, unable to maintain his intense gaze. "Because I feel like I need you more than you need me. There are so many girls out there." I can't believe what I'm saying. I start to sort out my clothes, trying to appear nonchalant, but my hands are trembling. "But there's only one King Thranduil." I'm trying to get my foot into my leggings, and then I see his feet in front of me. I blink hard and look up. He is so tall, just looking at him makes me dizzy.

"No." He takes my hands, lifting me onto my feet. I stand in front of him, close enough to feel his warmth through his clothes. "You are the only one."

He kisses me gently.

His thumbs are in my palms, and I hang on to this small part of him as his large hands cover mine completely.

I break away from his kiss. "I want to stay here with you."

"Then stay."

"But…"

As much as I'd love to remain in this romantic fantasy, I'd have to face reality at some point. How would I make use of myself all day while he went about his tasks? I wouldn't feel right about staying here if I couldn't earn my keep, but I don't even know what – if any – jobs there are for a human in an Elf kingdom. Besides, he probably runs things so smoothly, there likely aren't any holes in his kingdom that need to be filled.

Even though he's dressed, I'm still naked – not an ideal state in which to discuss job opportunities. Besides, there are too many remnants of the dream floating around for me to start talking about reality. "When I left my family, I was being selfish, I think. And it would be selfish of me to ask you to escort me home. I think the best thing to do would be to write them a letter so they know where I am. So they can pick me up."

He lowers my hands. His face has grown serious, impossible to read.

He waits for me to dress, and then he takes me to what appears to be his office – a vaguely circular room with a lit fireplace and an impressive oak desk. His long legs allow him to stride ahead of me to the large chair behind the desk. "You may help yourself to my materials." He pulls the chair out, gesturing for me to take a seat. I think about how regal he must look, occupying that chair as though it were made for him – which it probably was. As I sit down, I try not to think about how puny I must look in the chair by comparison. I'd give anything to be able to fit into his world.

Gleaming stationery lays in front of me. A long peacock feather quill sits to the right. _So he's right handed…_

I tear my eyes away from the beauty of his desk to see him striding towards the exit. I speak up before I can stop myself. "Wait. Could you… stay with me?" When he turns to look at me, his gaze causes the words to tumble from my mouth. "Unless you're busy. I'm sorry, I'm being selfish again."

"You're not being selfish, you're being human. It's refreshing, endearing, and…" In just a few steps, he's beside me again. "Exactly what I'm looking for." He leans over so his left hand is on my shoulder and his right hand is against the desk. The intimacy of his closeness makes it hard for me to breathe. I don't know how I'm going to be able to concentrate on writing a letter.

"Thank you for letting me use this." I pluck the quill from its holder. The quill is in excellent condition but I can tell it's well-loved by how soft it is. I try not to think about the oils from his hand transferring over every time he used it, leaving a permanent, invisible mark on his possession. "You've been nothing but generous since the beginning. I know you said I'm not being selfish, but it's hard not to think that way when you're so kind."

He pushes the ink pot closer towards me so I don't have to reach so far. "On the contrary, I'm quite capable of being selfish." He removes the lid from the ink pot. With a surprising amount of carelessness, he lets it fall from his grasp onto the desk. He brushes the hair away from my neck, exposing my bare skin to him. "I could keep you here."

I nearly upset the ink pot. Is he serious? I start to doubt my judgement; I thought for sure he was trustworthy. Is he capable of holding me here? And am I capable of fighting him? Would I even put up a fight?

Another wave of guilt washes over me. I know I wouldn't fight him. I would stay here with him, if he made me. I try again to dip the quill in the ink without spilling anything, putting all my energy into making sure my hands don't shake. "I'm just worried that you'd get bored with me."

"Perhaps you would be the one to grow bored with me?"

I turn to look at him, my eyes wide. He's got one eyebrow cocked. I'd think he was teasing if his tone hadn't been so serious. "No, I could never," I stammer.

He laughs and it's intoxicating, perplexing, because if it came from anyone else, I would be sure they were making fun of me. But somehow he sounds as though he's on my side. "But we barely know each other. How can you be so certain?"

He's playing devil's advocate, and it's frustrating because it's working. "Because there's something about you. I don't know, I can feel it."

His gaze drops to my lips. He closes the distance between us, and my eyes drift shut.

"Write the letter," he says. "If you don't, I will. However, I cannot promise you that my message would be the same as yours."

I open my eyes. He's still got his hand on my shoulder, but he has pulled away from me. My face heats up. I shouldn't have expected a kiss. I shouldn't expect anything from him. It's too risky. But what he said has me intrigued. "What would you tell my mother?" I imagine introducing him to my family…

And then I scold myself. What business would an Elven-king have meeting a human family of no status? His bedroom is almost as big as my entire house.

His hand grazes my smaller one as he steals his quill from my grasp. "I would tell her that her beautiful daughter is unable to return home, as the Elven-king of the Woodland Realm has claimed her as his wife."

I jump and my head snaps to look at him. He strokes the feather against his chin. His smile suggests he's waiting for my reaction.

I hold out my hand. "I think I'd better write the letter."

His deep laugh makes me light-headed. I barely register the quill being placed back in my hand; my mind is racing. _He's trying to get under my skin. Or is there truth to what he said? Is he really looking for a wife? But he would marry royalty… or at least an Elf. He's teasing me._

I scribble hastily, before the devil in me lets him write that letter. What a horrible joke that would be to play on my family. After all, I still love them. It's just that I love freedom above all.

_Dear Ma,_

_I am at the Elven-king of the Woodland Realm's fortress. His Elven guards are keeping me safe. I request that you meet me here so that I may return home safely._

_Love,_

I sign my name, exhausted. My mother probably won't even recognize my penmanship, it's so shaky.

As I let the ink dry, he hands me an envelope so I can write my address on it. He takes the letter and slips it inside the envelope, and then exits the room to summon a servant.

"Send our fastest courier," he says to the servant. "It is crucial that it be delivered today."

I clasp my hands in my lap. I know he's only trying to be helpful, but does he really want my mother to come that quickly?

I feel a surge of regret. I want to run out and grab the letter and tell him I want to stay here. But it's too late now. I try to console myself; I've made the responsible and rational choice.

I hear him re-enter the room. I keep my head bowed until I see his hand, palm up, in front of me. "My little one, you must be famished."

My anxiety was quelling my appetite, but he's right – I can't remember my last meal. I place my hand in his and he helps me rise. "Yes."

"Follow me." He drops my hand to open the door, holding it open for me. "As long as you are with me, I accept full responsibility for your wellbeing."

"You are very kind to your guests."

"Not all of them."

As I walk through the doorway, I catch a glimmer of wickedness in his eyes that makes me doubt his goodness all over again.

* * *

He leads me through the winding corridors, holding my hand the entire time, his thumb on top of mine. I would have thought that holding his hand would have been as life changing as kissing him, but strangely, it's not – in a good way, though. It feels so natural, as though my right hand was made for his left hand. The hand on which he'd wear a wedding band...

I feel dizzy again, embarrassed even though my thoughts are private – thank God. I wish I could drive that ridiculous comment about being his wife out of my head. He was only joking; he's probably moved on and forgotten about it by now.

A plateful of steaming vegetables and delicious, crystal-clear water were the only things seductive enough to draw my attention away from him. A hot meal – let alone fresh vegetables – required so much effort to attain, back at home, it's almost unbelievable how easily accessed they are here.

After dinner, I worry about what he has planned for me. I wonder if he'll take me back to his bedroom…

I stopped him from seducing me once, but how much more resistance do I have left? What if he's capable of taking me against my will?

I try to push the thought from my mind. I feel ashamed for having that kind of thought about someone who has been nothing but kind.

He takes my hand again. The glimmer is back in his eyes. "Tell me, my little one. Do you enjoy music?"

My heart skips a beat. "Yes, I do."

"Excellent, because we will be dancing to it."

My mouth opens, but I catch myself before my entire jaw hits the floor. It's not that I hate dancing… but I'm not exactly an expert at it. And dancing with Thranduil would probably make me so nervous, I'd trip over my feet before the music even started.

But I don't want to be rude. He is my host – and rescuer – and besides that, he's a king. I owe him so much respect, it's intimidating. I smile, hoping he doesn't notice me gulp. "Okay."

I look down at my clothes. As if reading my mind, he waves his hand. "It is an intimate gathering, rather informal. Do not concern yourself with the mundanities of dress. You are already radiant."

I feel light-headed again. He holds my hand a little more firmly so I can lean on him.

He leads me to a gathering of about ten other elves, held in a cozy room with a skylight offering everyone a perfect view of the stars. I peer up at the sheer vastness of the night. The crescent moon seems to hang at the top of the sky like a little smile.

He pours me a cup of wine. It's so delicious – it isn't dry, like the few other wines I've tasted. This one is deliciously wet, it's almost like juice, only incredibly, unbelievably better, and I can't get enough –

He gently guides the chalice away from my lips, his eyebrows raised. "Careful. Savour it, my little one."

He introduces me to everyone, using my full name.

"And who is she?" one of them speaks. The room falls silent as they all eye me curiously.

I look at him, having no idea how to respond. What am I to him? Heat prickles my face, partly from embarrassment and partly from the wine. I try to let go of his hand. _I am nothing to him. He doesn't need me._

He tightens his grip on my hand. "She is mine."

After engaging in a round of conversation with everyone, he leads me through a doorway out onto a rooftop terrace. "Wait here." He goes back inside to talk with someone in hushed tones. I hear them burst out laughing.

Are they laughing at me? I'm hit with a sudden wave of nausea. I grip the railing that divides Thranduil's party from the rest of the world, shivering.

He returns wearing a thick cape, holding another one in his hands. He comes up behind me and places it around my shoulders, taking great care to ensure it fits snugly.

The moon is bright, but it can't cut through the darkness of the trees. I look out onto the view of the forest. I can't believe I travelled through it alone. Thranduil stands beside me; he could rival the trees, for he is just as tall and mysterious.

I hold my tongue. I have so many things I want to tell him, but I stay silent in case he has something important to say.

"I am afraid I must confess something."

His voice makes me shiver again. Or maybe the cape he gave me is too thin.

I inhale the cold night air, hoping it will help clear my senses. I try to remain calm, but a part of me wonders, _did I make a bad impression? That's why they were laughing. Or maybe he really is toying with me, and they're in on it. That's why he didn't want me to change my clothes, so he could give his friends a laugh._

He slips his hand inside my cape, touching my waist – the touch feels too intimate, given my level of nervousness. The forest is too ominous; I turn to him so I'll have something beautiful to look at instead.

His face grows serious. "I destroyed the letter."

My mouth hangs open. I shake my head. "But…"

"Now you know I can be selfish. I hope you can forgive me, my little one."

Part of me feels angry. Now I know he is capable of lying and keeping secrets from me. I want to turn away, to deny him the ability to hold me.

But a darker part of me feels aroused by his deviousness. If he'd do anything to keep me with him – even lying, temporarily – then does that mean he truly wants me? I look down at his chest. "I can't say I forgive you."

He breathes my name, causing me to heat up over how nice it sounds to hear him say it. He wraps his other arm around my waist, and I'm deciding if I should let him touch me, when –

He leans down and kisses me, pressing me against the railing and holding me tight against his body. I keep my eyes open. This is more forceful than what I'm used to. So far he's given nothing but gentle kisses, but this one has a touch of ferocity in it. Are his sweet kisses the norm, and this kiss the aberration? Or is he actually aggressive – his gentleness just temporary?

I want to hope that he's normally gentle.

He moves a hand to the back of my head, tilting it until the angle of it pleases him, and then he kisses me so passionately…

My legs feel weak. I wobble a bit and my lips become unfastened from his. I whimper slightly from the loss of contact, and then chide myself for showing how much I need him. He is powerful and independent in ways I could only dream of being. No matter what he says, he'll never truly need me.

My voice is barely audible. "What about the others inside?"

"I told them all to leave."

The air feels icy on my lips without his pressed against them. I turn my head to look at the forest so he can't see my eyes. "So my family will never know where I am."

He holds my face and says my name. Gently. I sigh with relief, smiling, melting into the warm touch of his hands.

He shakes his head. "No, darling, I had the letter delivered."

I smile. Now I know for sure he's joking. "You said you destroyed it."

"I destroyed your letter. And then I sent my own. My little one, your family knows exactly where you are."

I freeze and try to suppress a choke. "Your letter…?"

He takes my hand in his. "I wish for you to stay here, as my wife."


End file.
